Arts and Antiques
by hippocampers
Summary: Erica's not sure how to deal with her lack of libido after having a baby. Finley just wants to watch CBeebies and sleep.


The three months after Charlie is born seem to pass in a sleep-deprived hurricane. Finley is tired all the time. Erica is tired all the time. Charlie is tired… all day, but not at night, when they actually _want_ him to be tired.

After a long, tough day of playing peek-a-boo and watching CBeebies with his favourite little man, while Erica went to some exhibition at the Tate, Finley flopped onto the bed next to his partner, rolling under the duvet with an inelegant grunt of relief.

Erica has been reading the same page of her book for about twenty minutes, and takes a breath like she wants to say something when he gets in. After a while, she speaks up.

"Look, I get it."

Finley glances up with a confused expression. It's the first time in ages that Charlie has gone to sleep before 2am and they've been able to lie down together, and Erica looks… defeated. It's a total contrast to the vivacious, untouchably ferocious girl he met two years ago – not that he doesn't still love her so much it hurts. "Get what?"

Erica sighs, in a way that is almost frustrated but not quite; like that would take effort she no longer has. "I get that you have _needs_. Sexually. And that I can't fulfil them right now. Or any time in the foreseeable future."

Finley frowns. "E, what-"

"What I'm _saying_ , Finn, is I understand that you might want to… outsource for that particular act. It's fine."

There is a beat. A cold, heavy feeling – like a stone, or perhaps a boulder – sinks into his stomach, making Finley nauseous and uncomfortable. "I don't understand."

Erica sighs again, this time managing to sound frustrated and sad all at once. "I'll put it in a way you might get. I'm basically Arts and Antiques right now. I get it if you want to be… seconded to a murder squad or something. I get it. I do."

A laugh bubbles in his throat at the analogy, but he swallows it down like bile. "Has Ke- Emerson started up his hate campaign again? I thought we were mates now." Kent hasn't been acting with any animosity at work recently. After the whole I-want-to-jump-off-this-building affair, they'd worked on their differences, and the younger constable had even agreed to be best man at the wedding, when Erica finally accepted his proposal ( _"I'll marry you when I'm damn well ready," she had said with a grin upon his asking, kissing the tip of his nose and straddling his lap. "And you can take my name. OR at least have it double-barrelled." Finley had been so bowled over than she hadn't slapped him he couldn't even be offended. The 'turning-down-proposal' sex was great, after all._ ).

"Don't be stupid. You know I'd tell him where to shove it if he started that." A flicker of pre-39-hour-labour Erica surfaces, and Finn smiles a bit. "No, not that. I just- Well, I was at this thing, and the focus was female sexuality, and I _know_ you don't really get art like that, but it just made me realise that I'm not… sexual any more. For now. And I know you are. Quite obviously." She quirks an eyebrow, as if to say _I know about your shower wanking habits._ His cheeks darken slightly in shame. "I don't want you to get so pent-up and sexually frustrated that you leave Charlie and I all together. I'd rather you, you know, go out to a club and shag some other girl but come home to us, and me know about it, I guess. I don't know."

He's not sure if he should be offended or not, and instead settles for mildly put-out and majorly confused.

"E, I don't want that. Haven't since I met you." He shuffles closer, taking her hand in his with uncharacteristic gentleness. "You- You _are_ my murder squad. You're like the best cases any officer could ever want. You're like, I dunno, the pinnacle of crime." He grins lopsidedly as the corners of Erica's mouth twitch upwards. "And if you're Arts and Antiques, then I'm David Attenborough."

She laughs at that. "Dickinson, you twat."

Finley flashes her a cheeky grin, tilting his head to kiss her sloppily but with as much love as he can convey. "Really, though. I don't want anyone but you. I can't help still feeling… sexual, but I- Well. I think of you when I do it, if it helps." He flushes again, but puts a strong arm over Erica's shoulders to pull her in close. "I can wait as long as you need. And even if that never comes back, even if we've had all of the sex we will ever have, that's okay by me. I mean, I'll still wank. Obviously. But I'll still only ever want you. Just you, no girl in a club, nothing. And I would never, _ever_ leave you and Charlie. Not ever." His voice wavers a bit at that, the mere thought of leaving his boy shaking him to the core.

"Okay." Erica responds, voice soft as she tucks her head into the crook of his neck and shoulder, breathing him in as though to steady herself. "Sorry."

"S'alright," he murmurs, fingers carding through her curls softly. "We're alright. More than alright. Yeah?"

He feels her smile rather than sees in, but it makes a smile come for him too. "Yeah, we're alright."

 **A/N: I did not expect to ship Erica/Finley as much as I do.**

 **Also I read a thing in a journal recently about women struggling with their sexuality post-childbirth, and thought it might be nice to address that with my apparent favourite non-M/M ship. Yay for psychology journals.**

 **I'm also on Tumblr** **and** **AO3, both as hippocampers, s** **o come say hi :)**

 **ALSO also, I really hope everyone knows who David Dickinson is. He's that really tanned guy who used to do Antiques Roadshow. Which I totally watched too much of for someone under 52.**


End file.
